journals

i can call them flowers, if i want to

It’s been a month since I dropped off the face of the internet, no, the Earth– and I’ve been thinking about that expression more consistently than almost anything else.

A face is the part of the body that is presented to view or has a particular function, like the face of a giant watchtower clock, like the face of big-eyed Disney skunk.

Is the internet the face of the Earth now? Or on the face of the Earth, perhaps? (Like a nose, or a nose ring.) Or, maybe, is it the underbelly– soft and vulnerable and hidden from view?

Have I been on the face of the Earth enough to say I’ve fallen off of it? An eyelash falls off the face of a person, but it’s hardly worth mentioning let alone in need of it’s own cliché.

Can you fall off an underbelly? Dead ticks do.

Either way I haven’t been posting anywhere because things happened. I took out a shovel to get to clearing them– and then– as if I wasn’t busy enough– more things happened right on top of those things, and eventually I ended up in a giant junkyard of things that happened.

Perhaps instead of a junkyard, we could call it a garden? I’m still in the weeds, in a pile of overgrowth, but there are beautiful things around and I did bring my shovel so progress is made even when it’s not enough progress.

It never really seems to be enough, does it.

If this is the face of the Earth, then I apologize for what I’ve done here. Sometimes there’s too much scar for good garden.

One of my favorite blossomings of the last month has been a move. I live very close to where I used to live, but it is something different now, something bigger, something safer.

I will show you pictures of my room once I find it under the pile of boxes, once I lift the pile of boxes off of me, once I unbury myself from this junkyard, no, this scarring, no, this garden.

Yes, this garden.

Sometimes the face of the internet feels, to me, like the face of a giant watchtower clock. Click, click, click, click, click. It’s soothing at times, a lullaby of sorts.

Lately it has felt more like stalking, and I have found myself hiding from what used to rock me to bed.

But that’s how faces are.

They can change with the sun, or with a naming.

Just look at the Earth, with a face like skunk– all dance and warning, all odor and slink, and piles and piles and piles of things.

I can call them flowers if I want to.

Part 1 of ?

27 thoughts on “i can call them flowers, if i want to”

  3. Welcome back. I’m sorry you were gone at all… Things, always happening, yes. And shovels are certainly good for dealing with this things. Let me know if you ever need help with the shoveling.

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  5. A rose by any other name might smell as sweet but can anything be a rose? Perhaps if you look hard enough. And if I know one thing about you, Ra, it’s that you can do almost anything you put your mind to. Hope your garden grows well. 💚💚

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  8. Hi Ra, I hope things settle for you soon. Please know that my message wasn’t intended to make you feel guilty. I only wanted to let you know that we think of you, often, and we’re happy when you’re happy.

    I hope that you find your presence online nourishing again, but you don’t need to apologise for being absent. We’re rooting for you even when we don’t see the sunbeams shining out of your lovely face❤️

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    1. I couldn’t find this comment anywhere, so sorry for the slowness. 😀 I was grateful for the check ins I received through my time of silence. It reminded me I couldn’t actually just float away. 🙂 xoxo

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  12. There’s never too much scar for good garden. I’m awed by your ability to continually create good garden from the junkyard.
    I’m so happy for you that you’ve found a bigger safer place to live.
    And yes indeed you can call them flowers. Call *all* of them flowers! 💐 🌺 🌼 All are part of the flowering of Ra.
    A phrase for you to perhaps carry with you: Let it be easy. It was Don’s and my travelling mantra. Well, we’re all travelling, every day, anyway, so a mantra for life.
    Alison

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  13. I read a book a long time ago titled “Weeds in Winter.” though the topic of the book isn’t about what you wrote the title kinda is. Weeds are beautiful and sometimes we go through what we think is the winter of our lives when in fact it is a change and the sight of a flowering weed lets us go on to think of the next season (Spring) No matter what I’ve felt eventually things change, not always for the better but I can always think of a worse contrast at least in my life. We build gardens in what space we have I think you will too!

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